


Fuck the Snow (Repeat as Necessary)

by mistresscurvy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscurvy/pseuds/mistresscurvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Remind me why we came to New Jersey in January to practice rather than staying in L.A. where it's <em>warm</em> and not, you know, snowing," Ray says, staring out the front door at the white flakes coming down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck the Snow (Repeat as Necessary)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the no_tags 2011 challenge. Thank you to S, Z and M as always. Title inspired by [this tweet.](http://twitter.com/FrankIero/status/23436868360085504)

"Remind me why we came to New Jersey in January to practice rather than staying in L.A. where it's _warm_ and not, you know, snowing," Ray says, staring out the front door at the white flakes coming down. There are already two or three inches on the ground; it’s been cold enough recently that it’s really sticking.

"When you and Christa have infant twins, I promise that we'll come to you," Frank says pleasantly.

"I'm pretty sure that babies aren't technically infants after three months, actually," Gerard says, coming up behind Ray and checking out the storm.

“Isn’t that newborns? I thought babies were infants until they can crawl or something,” Mikey says, tapping away at his iPhone.

"Whatever, they're _little,_ is the point. And I can't believe that L.A. has made you all afraid of a little snow, you're from fucking Jersey," Frank says.

Mikey holds up his phone. "Forecast is for 12 to 16 inches overnight," he says, wagging the phone back and forth in his hand.

They all stare at him. "Fuck," Frank says finally. "Well. Love New Jersey, love snow, you know?"

"I don't think there's like a transitive property about loving New Jersey, Frank," Gerard says. "Like, I don't magically love hypodermic needles at the beach because I grew up here in the eighties, you know?"

"Doug Gowski nearly lost his foot after stepping on one in Ocean City," Mikey says, texting with both hands.

"He did not, he totally just made that shit up," Frank says.

Mikey snaps his head up, nodding when Gerard says, "No, that thing was gross, purple and swollen and, well. It barely looked like a foot anymore."

"From a fucking needle, though? I don't buy it," Frank says, ready to dig into the argument until Ray clears his throat.

"You guys can argue about Gowski or whatever as long as you like, but I'm heading out to my parents' now before this shit get worse," Ray says, grabbing his coat off the rack and somehow getting a knit hat down over his hair.

Mikey nods as he pulls on his jacket. "You staying with Frank tonight, Gee?"

"Yeah, that's the plan," Gerard says, glancing over at Frank quickly before focusing back on Mikey. His face gets the look Frank thinks of as the Concerned Older Brother Special; he's pretty sure it's been renamed and will be directed at Bandit for the rest of her life, but Mikey still earns it every once in a while. "Drive safe, okay? You know those crazy Jersey drivers."

"Learned with the best," Mikey says, zipping up.

"Can't be worse than fucking L.A. drivers who can't even deal with rain," Frank says, hugging Ray as he leaves.

"I'd take rain right now," Ray says, pulling the door open and heading out into the storm.

Gerard is still looking at Mikey, who gives the smallest eyeroll Frank has ever seen. "I'll be fine, Gerard. I'll text you when I get to Mom's, okay?"

Gerard nods and hugs him, holding Mikey's face in his palms afterwards and just looking at him. Finally he nods again.

"Say hi to everyone for me, Mikes," he says, letting him go and stepping aside so that Frank can pull Mikey in for a quick hug.

"Yup. See you guys after we dig out," Mikey says, opening the door for all of them.

Frank and Gerard walk to Frank's car at the back of the lot while Frank tries to remember if the scraper and brush are in the trunk or at the foot of the passenger seat. He pops open the trunk and reaches in, triumphant, and flips his keys to Gerard who promptly drops them in the snow.

"Nice catch, Gee," he says, closing the trunk and brushing the snow off the rear windshield.

"A little warning next time maybe," Gerard says, climbing into the front seat and turning on the car, putting the defroster on full blast.

Frank finishes cleaning off the car, making sure the wipers are totally clear from the ice, and throws the scraper into the foot of the backseat before getting in. He blows over his hands to warm them, the fingerless gloves that work so well when he plays hopelessly inadequate for snow.

“Jesus, Frank, and you called me unprepared,” Gerard says, shifting the heat to their feet and hands.

“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be smart,” Frank says, buckling up and pulling out of the lot slowly. He drives cautiously, taking the turns carefully and keeping a huge distance between him and the other cars on the road. Every time he looks in his rear view mirror he catches sight of the empty car seats; he’d probably be driving even slower if the girls were with them, strapped in and kicking their feet. He can’t wait for them to get big enough to flip their seats around, so that when he looks in the mirror he’ll be able to see their faces.

He laughs at himself, and Gerard makes an inquiring sound. “I drive like a _dad_ now, Gerard,” he says, giggling a little. “Holy shit, I’m a dad.”

“You really are, Frank,” Gerard says, his smile audible in his voice. “J at home with the girls?”

Frank shakes his head. “Nope, she was over at her mother’s today. I’m gonna call her when we get home, tell her not to risk it yet, the roads are too bad,” he says, hunching over his steering wheel and squinting through the windshield.

Visibility continues to worsen, and the car slips and slides its way through the streets as the snow keeps coming down, the wind picking up a bit.

“Fuck the snow, seriously,” Frank mutters, trying hard not to clench the steering wheel too tightly.

Gerard snorts. "Whatever happened to 'love Jersey, love snow'?" he asks, leaning forward as if it'll help Frank to see through the storm.

"That was a pile of shit and you know it," Frank says, slowing down even further. The Turnpike hadn't been too bad, but the smaller highways to Frank's house have barely seen a plow, and the snow is coming down even harder now.

They're quiet as Frank navigates the roads, the windshield wiper's soft _shush-shush_ the only sound in the car. It feels later than four in the afternoon, the world a dull, constant gray, and there are hardly any other cars on the road. Frank begins to imagine that they're the only ones around, the car the only safe place left.

"You ever feel like maybe there's nothing else out there? It's so spooky," Gerard says, and Frank glances at him and smiles quickly before turning his head back to the road. It's difficult to really feel alone when Gerard is there.

* * *

Mikey finally texts Gerard just as Frank gets off the last highway onto town roads. "Mikey just got home," Gerard says.

"Jesus," Frank says.

"Yeah, I know," Gerard says. "Also, Ray called him, he's home too."

Frank starts to laugh, can't help it. "We have a fucking phone chain for emergencies," he says, shaking his head a little. "I call you, Ray calls Mikey—"

"—And Mikey and I call each other," Gerard finishes. Frank wishes he could stop watching the road long enough to see the smile he knows Gerard has on his face. "Just practical, Frankie."

Frank can't help but giggle even as he makes his way through the streets of his town, which make the highway roads seem clear and safe in comparison. Out here the houses are larger than where they all grew up, with bigger lots and yards and no lake with bodies in it. His daughters are going to know a totally different Jersey than he did growing up; the stories of his youth will sound like the exaggerations of a successful man trying to give his upbringing cred.

Put plainly, Frank lives in suburbia now, and he's totally cool with that. At least when there isn't snow everywhere.

They finally pull into Frank's driveway after a trip that took a solid forty-five minutes longer than normal. Frank lets his head drop back against the seat, trying to relax after almost two hours of incredibly tense driving.

He finally looks over at Gerard, who's watching him quietly. "Made it," Frank says, trying for a smile. From the look Gerard gives him, he doesn't think he succeeds.

He unbuckles his seat belt, flexing and stretching out his cramped hands before opening the door and stepping out into the storm. The wind is even worse here, and Frank struggles to get the door closed again before his entire front seat gets covered with snow.

He waits for Gerard to come around the car before trudging through the snow up the walkway to his house and climbing up the front steps. He turns around to see how Gerard is doing just in time to see him slip backwards in his designer boots, which Frank has to admit look pretty awesome but clearly do not have the soles for New Jersey winters. Gerard almost stays on his feet, but he overcorrects a little and goes down, faceplanting into the snow.

“Gerard!” Frank says, walking down the steps again as fast as he dares to help him. Gerard is on his hands and knees, and Frank reaches out a hand for Gerard to grab as he carefully stands back up. “You okay, man?” Frank asks, brushing off some of the snow that's all over Gerard's body.

Gerard looks back at him, his face red and wet, hair dangling in his face. “Fuck the snow, Frank,” he says, shaking his arms out to knock some of the snow off.

“No argument from me,” Frank says, taking hold of Gerard’s arm and leading him up to the stoop slowly. They make their way up the stairs, Gerard grabbing onto Frank as he tests each step out before shifting his weight. Frank fumbles with the keys a bit, his hands cold and clammy just from the few minutes they’ve been outside, but he finally gets the right key in the lock and pushes open the front door.

Frank tosses the keys onto the hall table, not caring at all when they skid across the surface and crash to the ground. “Okay. Why don’t you head upstairs and get changed, and I’m going to call Jamia,” he says, trying to toe off his boots but eventually giving up and leaning over to unlace them. Gerard is leaning back against the closed front door, pulling one of his boots off and chucking it across the room once he succeeds. He gets the other one off as well and then pads through the hall up to the stairs, his socked feet squishing slightly as he goes.

Frank finally gets both of his boots off, no easy feat given that all the dogs have finally figured out that he’s home and are freaking out simultaneously, jumping up on his legs or barking or, in the case of Peppers, vibrating with excitement and staring at him intently.

“Guys, I promise I’ll let you out as soon I call Mom, okay?” he says, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket and hitting the first speed dial. He wanders into his living room, shedding his jacket onto the floor and kicking out his legs a little after the long drive while he waits for Jamia to pick up.

“Hey Frank,” she finally says. “Where you at?”

Frank breathes out a slight sigh at the sound of her voice; he hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that she and the girls were okay. “Me and Gerard just made it back to the house. Listen, J, the roads are total shit right now – I really think you and the girls should just stay at your mom’s and come back tomorrow once it’s stopped snowing and the roads have been plowed,” he says, running a hand through his hair and flicking off the snow that he pulls from it.

“That’s what I was figuring on doing. You guys get back okay?” she asks, voice warm and steady as always.

Frank nods even though he knows she can’t see him. “Yeah, not too bad, just took fucking two hours to get home from South Plainfield,” he says.

“Oh shit,” Jamia says.

“Yeah, I know. And Gerard fell in the snow on our walk – couldn’t tell if there’s ice underneath or if it’s just his fucking boots, but he’s pretty wet and miserable right now,” Frank says, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder while rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them.

There’s a pause before Jamia speaks again. “So you planning to huddle for warmth under the covers with him, or what?” she asks.

Frank lifts his head up from his shoulder, grabbing the phone with his hand and tucking his other arm under his elbow, whole upper body twisted up. He chews on his lower lip for a second before answering. “I was actually thinking about making him some hot chocolate?” he says, and his shoulders loosen a little when she laughs at him, the sound happy and casual.

“Sounds like a winning technique, babe,” she says, and Frank suddenly wishes that she was here so badly, wants to be able to rest his head on her lap while she brushes the hair out of his face and tells him calmly and precisely all the ways in which he’s a moron.

He settles for bouncing around the living room a little as he says, “Look, I know we’re being ridiculous, but my focus right now is on you and the girls, and—”

She interrupts him. “Frank, your focus has always been on me and the girls, and the dogs – you know, our family. If you think I don’t know that I’m going to fucking beat you up the next time I see you.” She sighs loudly, and Frank stays silent, fairly certain she’s not done yet. He closes his eyes when she continues, “The two things have got nothing to do with each other. You’ve got to trust me when I tell you that I know this, okay Frankie?”

“Okay, J,” he says softly, still pacing a little around the room, three of the dogs following him back and forth. “I just. What if I’m wrong about this?”

“Then Gerard will look at you with his big Bambi eyes and apologize for years and tell you exactly what’s different now, and by the end of the lecture you’ll want to suffocate him with a pillow so it’ll be a moot point anyway,” she says, sounding a little cranky again. “But seriously, I do not think it’s something to be worried about, Frank. Neither of you is subtle, honey.”

Frank pulls his lower lip back into his mouth before flicking it out with his teeth. “I love you,” he says finally, looking down at the carpet, hair curtaining his face.

“I know,” she says, and he grins a little. Fuck yeah she’s Han Solo. “So stop being an idiot, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Now let me talk to the ladies, are they awake?”

She puts him on speakerphone, and he says hello and I love you and good night to the girls as they babble back at him, Cherry’s high-pitched squeals blending with Lily’s constant background cooing. Once he hangs up with Jamia he heads into the kitchen, the pack of dogs following at his heels, and he leads them out on to the patio.

He opens up the sliding door to the enclosed backyard, shrugging when they all look up at him reproachfully when their faces get hit by the wind and the snow. “It’s either out there or you hold it, those are your options,” he says to them, pretty sure they can all see the lie on his face and that he’s going to wake up to more puddles on his kitchen floor in the morning than he can even imagine. He wonders whether laying down newspaper is a wise preemptive strike or if that will merely show his weakness to the enemy.

“I’m not sure they buy it,” Gerard says from the doorway, looking a little less like a drowned punk rat now that he’s in dry clothes, but Frank still wants to wrap his arms around him and warm him back up.

That might not be entirely due to the storm, though.

“Whatever, they should know by now that I’m serious about stuff like this,” he says, flapping his arms around and sighing when two of the dogs tentatively put a couple paws down into the snow and then quickly pull them out, sitting back on their haunches and barking at the storm. The only one who actually went out when he opened the door was Sweet Pea, which is somewhat worrying given her size. He waits on the patio, rubbing his hands on his arms and muttering “Fucking finally,” when she hops back inside, covered in snow.

He turns around to get some paper towels to dry her off, and Gerard is already holding out a roll to him. “Thought you might need these,” he says, and Frank takes them, sure that Jamia is rolling her eyes at him from her mom’s place. He wipes Sweet Pea down, following her around as she wriggles out of his grasp again and again, until finally he gives it up as a lost cause and lets her romp back into the house. He looks back at the rest of the dogs, who are still not budging, and he sighs and closes the door. Locking them in the kitchen overnight with a baby gate and tons of newspaper on the floor might not be the best parenting idea he’s ever had, but he thinks it’s a winner.

He heads back into the kitchen where Gerard is waiting for him, and his stomach gets tied up in knots again, which is fucking ridiculous. It’s _Gerard._ He wills himself to calm the fuck down, which shockingly only sort of works, and he decides a distraction is in order.

“You want some cocoa?” he asks, opening the pantry to reveal four or five different types. “We’ve got a couple of varieties, so it’s your choice.”

Gerard looks over his shoulder, his body pressed close to Frank. “Why the fuck do you have a dozen kinds of hot chocolate, Frank?” Gerard asks, sound vibrating against Frank’s back.

“Shut up, it’s like four. And kids like hot drinks, okay, and they shouldn’t have coffee yet, they need all the help in the height department they can get,” Frank says, elbowing Gerard a little in the stomach before he turns around.

Gerard is smiling at him, hair still hanging limply around his face and dripping a little. "Frank, the twins aren't even six months old yet. I think you've got some time before they’re going to be demanding hot chocolate."

"Whatever, it's important to be prepared," Frank replies, moving past Gerard and pulling the small sauce pan down from the rack to the left of the stove. He fills it with water from the filter and puts it on the stove, turning on the gas. “You gonna choose one or what?” he asks, looking back at Gerard and faltering a little when he sees Gerard’s face.

Gerard is staring at him, eyes soft and mouth slightly open, lips shiny and pink. All of a sudden Frank's nerves disappear completely, replaced by an anticipation of something more urgent and hopefully fun. "Gerard?" he asks quietly, holding out his right hand slightly. He shudders a little when Gerard takes it, his hand warm and dry in comparison with Frank's cold and clammy one.

"Guess I should have changed too," Frank says, looking over Gerard's face as he pulls him a little closer with his hand.

The corner of Gerard's mouth quirks a little. "Is that my cue to make a comment about getting you out of those wet clothes?" he asks, lacing his fingers through Frank's. Frank giggles a little and shrugs, not sure exactly what to say to that. Gerard's face loses the little half-smile; he almost frowns as he says, "Frank, I just didn't know—" and Frank decides that's enough talking.

He kisses Gerard lightly, bringing his left hand up to brush over Gerard's face but not holding him there, not yet, just feeling his skin again. He pulls away slowly, smiling at Gerard, who's looking at Frank like he has no idea how they got there, what they're even doing in Frank's kitchen, and at the moment Frank doesn't know himself.

"Frank," Gerard starts, and then he stops, looking down for a moment before making eye contact with Frank again. "Just. Is Jamia—"

"She basically spent ten minutes making fun of me when I called her," Frank tells him, so close to Gerard's face that he has to scan back and forth between his eyes to keep him in focus. "Lyn-Z?"

"She's been threatening to write terrible poetry about us and use it in her next multi-media piece," Gerard admits.

"That sounds pretty cool," Frank says.

"That's what I said! But apparently that wasn't the point or whatever," Gerard says, waving around his free hand. "I told her that it would hit on some fairly universal themes, but she was unconvinced."

"So," Frank says.

"So," Gerard repeats, squeezing Frank's hand. Frank shivers, a little from the excitement and adrenaline and relief that they're actually fucking talking about this now and might not ever have to talk about it again, but mostly because he's been inside long enough for all the snow on his clothes to have melted, and now he's wet and cold.

"Seriously, though, I really should change," he says, feeling over the wet denim of his jeans and wriggling his toes in his damp socks.

Gerard gestures at the stove. "What about the hot chocolate?" he asks.

"Later?" Frank says, and he grins a little at how quickly Gerard nods. He turns off the gas and walks out of the kitchen backwards, pulling Gerard with him by his hand, figuring that his dogs are smart enough to avoid him even if he can't see them and then turning around when he realizes that this is a massive overestimation for some of them.

They walk up the stairs together, Frank in front of Gerard, still linked by their hands. Frank leads them through the upstairs, bypassing the master bedroom for the guest room at the end of the hall where Gerard is staying.

"I thought you wanted to get changed," Gerard says as Frank closes the door.

"After," Frank replies, pulling down Gerard's face for another kiss. Gerard responds by wrapping his arms around Frank's waist, pulling him in and promptly getting his dry clothes damp again. Frank would break away to just pull his hoodie off and resolve the wet clothing issue that way, but he can't tear his mouth away from Gerard's yet.

It hasn't been so long that he doesn't remember exactly the way that Gerard kisses and tastes, and it's not like there’s some sort of poetic feeling of coming home or whatever. It's just him and Gerard, familiar and ridiculous and intense. Gerard pushes his tongue into Frank's mouth and he welcomes it, letting Gerard take control, and then Gerard strokes over his tongue and he moans and pushes his hips against Gerard's.

He runs his fingers through Gerard’s hair, longer than it was the last time he really got to play with it, and Gerard hums into his mouth, biting down on his lower lip. Frank inhales sharply, catching Gerard’s tongue in his teeth in response, and they hold each other tighter, hips thrusting against each other as they continue to kiss, long and deep.

At this point the wet clothes are becoming a chafing hazard for some delicate areas, and Frank pulls away reluctantly, turning his head to the side when Gerard follows him insistently. "Gerard. Clothes, remember?" he says, unzipping his hoodie and pulling it off his arms before getting his t-shirt up over his head by its collar. He's about to go for his jeans when he catches the look on Gerard's face.

Gerard is looking over his body like he's never even seen it before, like it's this new piece of art that he's getting to study and know and love, and Frank lets his arms drop to his sides and stays still for him. Gerard brushes the tips of his fingers up Frank's arms, swirling a little over the tops of his shoulder before sweeping down Frank's chest, pressing lightly on his nipples. Frank sways into the touch, can't help it, and by the time Gerard brings his hands up and cups his face Frank is breathing heavily, his entire body tuned to Gerard's frequency.

This time when they kiss Frank feels like he's about to break apart, like Gerard is the only thing holding him together and the only one who could. He whimpers into his mouth, clutching Gerard to him by his shoulders, running his hands all over his back and down to his ass. Gerard is wearing a pair of soft sleep pants that cling a little to his lower body but still have a lot more give than the pants Gerard wears these days, and Frank has to press his hands against the fabric to really feel Gerard's body the way he wants to.

He can feel Gerard's hard dick against his hip, and god, he missed this, missed getting this part of Gerard along with everything else that comes with their relationship. And suddenly Frank runs out of patience, can't bear to wait any longer, and he pulls away from Gerard just a little and drops to his knees, pressing his face up against Gerard's cock.

Gerard gasps softly above him, and Frank gets his fingers under the waistband of his pants and pulls them down, careful not to catch Gerard's dick. Once they're around Gerard's knees Frank brings his total focus to the sight in front of him. Gerard's cock is beautiful, long and hard and flushed, jutting out against the little bit of soft belly Gerard still has even after his transformation into a dude who runs on a treadmill five days a week. Frank runs his hands over the tops of Gerard's thighs, feeling the smooth skin there and listening to Gerard trying to breathe normally, and then he takes Gerard's dick in his hand and licks it, root to tip.

He gets Gerard nice and wet, knows that he likes his blow jobs sloppy and messy, and then he takes him down, stroking over the rest of the shaft with his fist. He bobs up and down over Gerard's cock, swirling his tongue over the head and just letting himself float a little, breathing in the scent of Gerard's arousal and tasting him. Gerard's hands touch over his face and his hair, finally combing through the shorter pieces in front and holding them back so that Frank doesn't get them in his mouth.

Frank lets one hand move back a little behind Gerard's balls, pressing up against the soft skin there and loving the way Gerard jerks at the pressure. He takes a deep breath and goes all the way down on Gerard's cock, letting him slide deep into his throat and just opening up around him. He isn't expecting it when Gerard pulls him off suddenly, and he sits back on his heels and looks up at him, wiping the spit off his bottom lip and chin.

Gerard is looking down at him like he's never seen Frank like this before, eyes wide and dark, face flushed. "Frankie," he says, then shakes his head and pulls Frank up, kissing him frantically as soon as Frank is standing, licking into his mouth and biting down on Frank's lips, which are swollen and stretched from being wrapped around Gerard's cock.

Frank's dick is still trapped in his jeans, and Gerard is in his t-shirt, and Frank has the fleeting thought that they must look utterly ridiculous, both half-dressed but the opposite halves bare, when Gerard pulls away and says, "Frank, get on the bed, I need to fuck you," and Frank is not going to argue with that. He gets his jeans undone, pulling the wet denim and his briefs down in one go and stomping his feet out of them, getting his socks off in the process. He palms over his dick, dropping his head back at the feel of his hand on his skin, and then he looks at Gerard.

“Aren’t you going to take that off?” he asks, gesturing at Gerard’s shirt, and Gerard startles, snapped out of just staring at Frank. He pulls his shirt off while Frank climbs onto the bed, settling on his back with his legs spread wide. He starts stroking himself again, nothing much, just enjoying the view as Gerard comes around his side of the bed, totally naked.

Gerard opens his mouth to speak, and Frank beats him to it. “In the side table, top drawer,” he says, body already humming with anticipation. It’s been a long time since they’ve done this – before they were both fathers, or married even, back when it seemed like it was easier to balance everything in life. He’s watching Gerard poke through the drawer and finally take out the lube and a condom packet, and he shakes his head at himself.

“Why were we so dumb?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow when Gerard looks at him. “I mean. It’s fucking _us._ ”

Gerard just shrugs as he opens the lube and pours some into his palm, dipping his fingers into it before bring his hand down to Frank’s hole. “Seemed like the right thing at the time. And now’s pretty good, right?” he asks, pressing in the first finger as he speaks.

Frank pants and nods in response, bearing down against Gerard’s finger and then rolling his eyes back at the feel of it pressing up inside of him. Gerard is so fucking good at this, it’s uncanny, it’s like he just knows exactly where to press and how to do it every time, right off the bat. And it’s not that he’s not a smug bastard about it, he totally is, but Frank can’t really hold it against him when he makes him feel like this.

He spreads his legs out further, hoping and then sighing out in relief when Gerard adds another finger, starting to thrust in and out of Frank, and seriously, he loves how much Gerard cares and all, but he’s getting a bit desperate.

“Want you now, Gerard,” he says breathlessly, dimly satisfied when Gerard’s hand stills instantly. “Come on, you know I can take it.”

“What if I want you to be totally ready?” Gerard asks, starting to move again, but Frank knows he’s got him.

“Won’t be totally ready until it’s your dick up there,” Frank replies, and Gerard slaps his hip in response but he knows he’s won when he feels Gerard slowly pulls his fingers out and hears the crackle of the condom packet. He lifts his feet off the bed, pulling his knees into his chest, and just waits for Gerard, covering his eyes with the inside of his elbow.

He can hear Gerard shuffling into position, and then he feels Gerard’s hand close around his wrist and pull his arm away from his eyes, pressing his wrist against the bed instead. “I want you to be able to see me, Frankie,” he says, lining himself up with his other hand and pressing in slowly.

Frank groans, feeling himself opening up for Gerard as the head of his cock pops through, getting past the tight ring of muscle. Gerard is panting already, his chest slick with sweat, and Frank takes his free hand out from behind his knee to stroke over Gerard’s chest as he pushes inside of him, breathing with him. Finally Gerard bottoms out, his thighs pressed up flush against Frank’s ass, and Gerard leans down to close the distance and kiss Frank, sucking on his lower lip as he pulls out and thrusts back in the first time.

Wrapping his legs around Gerard’s back, Frank just lets himself go, moving with Gerard’s pace and pushing back on every thrust forward, his movements increasing the urgency for both of them. Frank runs his free hand over Gerard’s back, cupping his ass before bringing it up to Gerard’s hair, grabbing and tugging his head back.

“Oh, fuck, Frank,” Gerard pants out, getting his hand down around Frank’s cock, just holding it, adding a little friction right under the head, and Frank is pulling against Gerard’s other hand that's still holding down his arm, his entire torso contracting, and finally he just can’t hold on any longer and he’s coming, shooting all over his stomach and Gerard’s hand and chest.

Gerard fucks him through it, keeping the same steady pace and sparking aftershocks throughout Frank’s body. Frank feels like a ragdoll, his limbs loose and floppy, and his ankles unhook from around Gerard’s back and just fall open as he continues to take it from Gerard until he grunts and stills, his cock jerking inside Frank as he comes.

Dropping his head down against Frank’s chest and kissing over his damp skin, Gerard stays inside him for a bit, circling his hips and thrusting in lightly before finally pulling out and doing something with the condom. He comes back to the bed soon enough, curling up next to Frank and resting his head on Frank’s shoulder, his hand stroking over Frank’s body. Frank can practically hear Gerard thinking, and he waits quietly, not wanting to force anything. Finally, Gerard lifts his head a bit, and Frank looks over at him.

“So what are you going to do about the dogs?” Gerard asks, and Frank slaps his forehead with his palm.

“Fuck, I don’t even know,” Frank says, rubbing his hand down his face and looking out the window at the storm still raging on.

“Don’t worry,” Gerard says, kissing Frank’s shoulder, and Frank turns back to him. “I’ll help you. But now sleeping.”

* * *

They doze for a bit, limbs tangled together, familiar with each other’s bodies in a way that can only be learned through living in a van together for months. Frank finally lifts up his head when he hears a repetitive thumping at the bottom of the door.

“They’re getting restless,” Gerard mumbles into his shoulder, sweeping his arm off Frank’s torso and stretching like a cat. Frank is tempted to poke him in the belly, but his brain is still fuzzy from the orgasm and impromptu nap, and Gerard is up and out of the bed before he can even process it. “Come on, let’s get them fed and see if we can convince any of them to get their paws wet outside,” Gerard says, pulling on his pants before opening the door to the waiting crew.

Frank grumbles to himself as he pulls himself out of the bed, getting on a dry pair of jeans and an old sweater. “It doesn’t even fucking make sense, you fuckers are dogs, you’re not supposed to hate snow,” he says, glaring at Bella, who stares back at him, unperturbed.

“Must take after their dad,” Gerard says from down the hall, and Frank flips him off and sticks out his tongue for good measure. He follows Gerard down the stairs, finding him in the kitchen with his hands on his hips staring at a couple of the dogs, who are looking perplexed if willing to hear him out.

“Okay, guys, we’re gonna go outside and you’re going to pee and shit and do whatever other dog business is necessary, whatever, and then you’re going to come back in and get fed, all right?” Gerard says, heading towards the sliding door on the patio. And the traitors actually follow him out, and Frank is pretty sure Gerard succeeds in coaxing some of them to actually brave the storm, for fuck’s sake. He gets their food bowls filled while he mutters under his breath about the lack of loyalty, changing out the water and pulling newspaper out of the recycling to line the kitchen floor.

Once they’ve gotten the dogs taken care of, they eat some cold leftover pizza at the kitchen table, the wind still audible outside. Frank has that same last people alive feeling that he got in the car; this sort of weather just makes him want to batten down the hatches, cuddle up and avoid the world. He’s about to ask Gerard if he feels it too, or if he’s just nuts, when he notices Gerard looking at the chairs in the formal dining room that Frank and Jamia almost never use. He nudges Gerard’s arm, and he looks back at Frank immediately, eyes wide and excited, and Frank smiles.

They both get up, running around the house getting everything set up, and fifteen minutes later Frank and Gerard are in the middle of a blanket fort in the living room, the upper layer of blankets swaying down from the high backs of the dining room chairs. A messy pile of issues from Frank’s comic book stash are spread out on the floor in front of them, and two cups of hot chocolate are right at their fingertips, Frank careful to protect them from the dogs’ curious sniffs.

He hooks one foot over Gerard’s ankle, pulling him closer; when Gerard glances over at him, Frank gives him a quick kiss, not complaining when Gerard turns it into a longer one, taking his time with his lips and teeth and tongue. They finally pull apart, Frank feeling warm all over, and while he knows that won’t last, knows that they’ll probably wake up to a brutally cold day with the sun dancing off the snow brilliantly, and that he’ll be freezing his ass off when he digs out the walkway and the drive and the sidewalk, right now he really can’t say that he minds this storm all that much.


End file.
